A Man Commands
by Tobias Corvinus
Summary: A slave obeys. In the ruins of Rapture, a Splicer remembers when he'd been a man and the little girl who he'd once protected. The choices he's made as he tries to decide if he's a slave...or a man. Eventual OC/Big Sister. Please read and review.
1. Recollections and Cons

_Water slowly dripped from a leaking pipe, a steady drop of tears. _

_The man opened his mouth and tilted his head. Silken liquid landed on his diseased tongue. It even tasted salty like tears. Salty tears from the ocean weeping over a man's broken dream buried in the cold waters of the Atlantic._

_Rapture._

_The man leaned back against the metal pipe that dominated the room. Black clothing comprised of scrounged together dark colored outfits covered him. A black mask wrapped around his face. He liked it in the small workshop he'd claimed as his own. It was dark here, far from others and best of all…there were no mirrors. No shimmering glass to mock his image to remind him of what he was now. _

_Only now, only in the dark, devoid of any light, did he risk unraveling the mask, to eat, to drink, to feel the sensation of cool wind blowing across…flesh. _

_He was not unique, most of the city had fallen to the lure of ADAM, and now they scoured the glass corridors and silent halls and bloodied rooms in their never-ending search for the elusive wonder-drug. _

_Even now, here in the dark, in the comfortable murmur of unseen boilers and dripping of leaky pipes, the siren's call of ADAM still managed to reach him. A soft persistent murmur, a melody trapped in his mutated blood pulsing, pulsing, pulsing with each heartbeat a little more persuasive. Soon it would grow too sweet to ignore…soon._

_But for now remnants of free-will ignored it, for now, guilty sorrow smothered the call. _

_For now the unmasked man stared into the shadows and remembered when he'd truly been a man._

_

* * *

_

**September 11, 1958, Rapture.**

**Neptune's Bounty district. **

Rapture had two faces. One was the gleaming towers and golden halls of the upper class, where beautiful women and handsome men in regal clothing dined and shopped and laughed and partied. Where the lights were always shining and the entertainments always exciting.

Then there was the other face.

Cramped quarters of piping and hissing boilers, the stink of fish or escaping gas from geothermal vents, where the lower class worked and slaved and broke their backs to scrape by another day. Where the lights often needed replacing and it was common sight to see some poor sod lying dead in a shadowy corner. Where the Big Daddies roamed and Little Sisters harvested ADAM from angels only they could see.

Where the smuggler kingpin Fontaine ruled supreme.

When Fontaine had first reared his head, Andrew Ryan had approved, even applauded someone bettering their station through hard work and economic means. Then he learned just how Fontaine had risen to his new status.

The "One Law" that Ryan had made, to cease all contact with the outside world, had been broken. Fontaine's smuggling threatened to alert the Parasites to the location of this hidden paradise.

And Andrew Ryan had not built this man-made dream to have it squashed by some two-bit crook. First he tried it through legalities, economics, undercutting Fontaine on the market, to try to drive him bankrupt. His chief of Security, Sullivan was tasked with cracking the smuggling ring.

Sullivan did this quite well, but no matter how many men he had, how many leads, he was never able to find the head of the snake.

Frank Fontaine.

Sitting back in a comfortable chair, Fontaine chuckled to himself as he listened to the radio perched on a small crate. Most times Fontaine was up in Olympic Heights, but every now and then he paid a visit to the cramped, dimly lit caverns of Smuggler's Hideout, just to keep the boys on their toes.

And to listen to the radio.

"Today Ryan announced that Chief of Security Sullivan has arrested yet another group of smugglers. The smugglers, two men and one woman were caught smuggling luxury items from the surface-"

Fontaine pulled out a Cuban cigar, wiped it on his sleeve and lit it with a flick of a finely engraved gold lighter.

"-the smugglers were tried and summarily found guilty of endangering Rapture to the parasites. The three criminals were sent to Persephone Penal Colony earlier today where they may very well serve a life-sentence."

He inhaled with a sigh and pulled a trio of darts out of a battered desk drawer. He swiveled the chair to face a portrait of Andrew Ryan.

"This makes the total number of smugglers to fifty-nine. Security Chief Sullivan expressed confidence that they are close to cracking the smuggling ring-"

_Thunk_

A steel tipped missile pierced Ryan's left eye. Ryan's dog, Sullivan came on over the radio.

"Right now my boys have been working around the clock to contain this smuggling operation-"

_Thunk_

Andrew Ryan became blind.

"-and even though the smugglers have been incredibly stubborn with keeping their gobs shut, I think we're on the final stretch now. It's only a matter of time before we get our hands on the ringleader."

Fontaine paused in mutilating Ryan's portrait and smiled. "You know what Sullivan," he said to the radio, "I think you're right."

Someone knocked at his door.

"Door's open!" He drawled.

A nervous looking fisherman with greasy dark hair and stained work clothes awkwardly entered the room. Fontaine never turned around, he just kept staring at Ryan's face.

"Cat got your tongue, Benny?"

The fisherman/smuggler winced, "I-it's, I mean, we may 'ave a problem."

"Benny, Benny, you know how I feel about problems." Fontaine chided.

Benny's face leached of any color, "Well it's ah, it's 'bout Wilkins."

"What's 'ol Peachie done now?" Fontaine puffed out a breath of smoke.

"Ee didn' show up fer his shift, and Dan saw him talking tah Sullivan night before, and ah…well

"Benny, if you could tell me before my cigar burns out, that'd be nice."

The fisherman summoned the tattered remnants of his courage and spoke "I think Wilkin's gonna spill the beans on ya, Mr. Fontaine sah." He winced and shut his eyes and waited for Mr. Fontaine to do something horrible to him for bearing bad news.

Fontaine just chuckled though, "Thank you for telling me Benny, that'll be all."

Benny cracked open one eye, "You ain't gonna chop me in 'ta fish guts?"

"Well that depends, Benny, if you're still here when I turn around…" Fontaine slowly started to swivel the chair.

Benny, never one to question providence more than once, beat a hasty retreat out of the room.

Fontaine chuckled to himself. It pleased him to know how terrified the smugglers were of their king. And well they should. Fontaine might act as slick as a used cars salesman, but beneath those gimlet eyes and the fancy clothes and the cheery smile was a calculating mind with an easy penchant for cold cruelty. And right now his mind was telling him that maybe it was time for Ryan to get what he wanted.

"Be seeing you soon Sullivan…be seeing you real soon." Oh this was going to be the best con yet. Ryan would get what he wanted, Fontaine dead, the smugglers crushed, and in the end, Fontaine would get Rapture.

He smiled at that cheery thought and hurled the last dart.

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_A/N: My first Bioshock fic, I'm trying to keep this in line with the game's timeline. Feel free to read and review and as always, tell me what you think._


	2. Remember, Remember the 12th of September

**September 12, 1958 **

**Neptune's Bounty **

It was night down at the bottom of the sea. The bright lights that had pierced the murk by day had been dimmed to simulate the setting of the sun. Most of the docks were empty with the fishermen gone home for the day. The only people working now would be smugglers, shifting their illegal cargo from bathyspheres to hidden storerooms to be sold at a tidy profit during Black Market hours.

Which made it the perfect time for a raid.

Twenty men on Ryan's police force had been assembled for this. They all wore dark colored coats and fedoras. If that hadn't been enough of a giveaway, each of them also had a revolver in a hostel and either a machine gun or a shotgun slung across their back. In Rapture it was illegal to own firearms…unless you were a member of the security teams. The task force was led by Sullivan and even if he'd done some things he wasn't too proud of, one thing was always true. The man was always in the thick of it, always willing to do the dirty work.

The men converged quietly on a water sodden warehouse that reeked of fish. Silently they split up to cover the separate entrances leading in and out. Sullivan locked eyes with one of the newer guys. He had a machine gun slung across his back and a sledgehammer in his hands, and judging by the slight tremor in his arms, he was nervous as a cow on milking day. Sullivan glanced at his watch. The others wouldn't be ready for another ten seconds…time for a quick pep talk.

"What's your name kid?" He muttered.

The younger man twitched and looked at him, "Pike, Pike Williams, sir."

"Scared?"

Pike hesitated, "First time I've done this," he admitted.

"I know the feeling." Sullivan paused, "That's a good thing."

"It is?"

"Sure, it's your body saying _okay, I'm in a life-or-death situation, and now I'm ready to deal with it. _Makes you focus on what's important, kiddo."

"Twenty-one."

Sullivan blinked, "Come again?"

"I'm twenty-one, I'm not a kid," Pike blushed, the picture of a private disagreeing with a general, "…sir."

Sulivan chuckled. "Twenty-one eh? Well I tell you what. We make it through this in one piece and first round at the Fighting McDonagh's on you, kiddo."

"Just as long as the first round's the cheap stuff." Pike grimaced, but at least the kid wasn't twitching anymore. Last thing he needed was some jumpy rookie getting him shot.

"It's a deal." Sullivan glanced at the watch. "Okay, ready?"

Pike nodded and hefted the sledgehammer.

"Go."

Pike stepped forward and swung the hammer. The blow connected square with the water-logged wood. All around him other doors were breaking down, men in dark coats came streaming in. There were eleven, maybe twelve smugglers in the warehouse. Pike locked eyes with one smuggler, a gray haired woman who looked like she should be bouncing a grand-kid on each knee rather than holding contraband and staring at a bunch of men with guns pointed at her.

"Rapture Security! On your knees!" Mendez yelled.

Then the kindly looking old woman threw a fireball. There was a moment of stunned silence as the flaming Plasmid traveled through the air and impacted on Mendez. Then the man's coat burst into flames and he collapsed to the ground, screaming as plasmid-induced fire sizzled into his flesh.

_Splicer, she's a fucking Splicer._

Almost like that had been a signal, the rest of the smugglers unleashed Hell on Sullivan's men.

Fireballs the size of skulls, forking blue lightning, and freezing tendrils of frost filled the air. Pike stumbled behind a table as a jagged burst of light struck sparks off a bathysphere hull rusting in a corner. To his right he saw Taylor grab Mendez and try to smother the flames. A ball of ice struck him and Taylor froze into a grotesque sculpture.

A greasy looking man unleashed a swarm of hornets on Brian. The older man yelled and slapped frantically at the poisonous creatures, he stepped back and right into the path of a burst of fire. A charred slab of meat emerged from the blaze.

Surprisingly, at that moment, Pike felt…calm. Things were going to hell, and they weren't going to get better if someone didn't do something soon. Sullivan was in a corner, yelling for people to return some goddamned fire.

So Pike did.

The younger man unslung his Thompson and ducked out of cover. He sighted on Greasy and squeezed the trigger.

The ratatatat cut through the sounds of Plasmids. Greasy shuddered as hot lead tore through his workman's clothes.

The smuggler-Splicers might have been able to throw fire, cast lightning, or summon frost.

But they definitely _weren't _bulletproof.

Greasy collapsed to the ground and now more guns opened up. The remaining security members took cover and fired at the Splicers. The Splicers counter-attacked but their Plasmids were starting to fizzle.

_EVE, they're running low on EVE. _

Some of the Splicers managed to find cover while they jammed syringes filled with blue liquid into their wrists. A lot were caught out in the open, fumbling for a needle. The older lady that Pike had first seen collapsed as buckshot tore through her. She slumped against a door and cradled the gaping wound in her chest. There was a flicker of movement in the glass porthole set in the door.

A flash of a well-cut business suit, a glimpse of a sly face, a flare of a brightly lit cigar.

_Fontaine._

Pike didn't think, he burst from cover and dashed towards the door, firing the Thompson from the hip to deter anyone from frying his head off. Offensive plasmids sizzled and splatted and crackled at the ground by his feet and all around him, getting closer and closer.

_Click_

The machine-gun spat out its last shell and Pike fumbled for a spare magazine. He stumbled and then someone grabbed him and yanked him behind a support column just before a blast of Incinerate struck him. Sullivan's sooty face glared daggers at him.

"Christ kid! You trying to get yourself killed?"

"Saw Fontaine!" The younger man gasped out as he loaded a fresh drum into the Thompson.

"Where!"

"Disappeared behind that door."

Sullivan glanced at the door in question. There was about thirty feet of open ground between them and the door, thirty feet of screaming lead and flying Plasmids and Sullivan wasn't as young as he used to be. "Think you can make it?"

"Guess we'll find out."

Sullivan cracked a smirk, "Alright, Billy, Drew! Get ready to hose some lead around!" The two men to his right nodded and reloaded their Thompsons. "Ready Kiddo?"

"Ready Gramps."

"Go!"

Pike ran.

Arms pumping, head bent, hat scrunched low over his head, coat slapping at his legs, he ran through a storm of Plasmids and bullets. Behind him the three older men stepped out of cover and opened up with the Thompsons. The deafening roar of the firefight reached a crescendo as bullets ripped through wood and flesh and casings clattered to the ground. The Splicers were forced to take cover or be riddled with holes.

_Ten feet _

A Splicer emerged from cover in front of him. Pike tucked his head down and slammed past him.

_Fifteen feet_

The Splicer cursed, a fireball whipped past his head so close it singed the hairs on his neck.

_Twenty feet_

His lungs were burning, the smoke in the air clogged his nose, the smell of gunfire was sharp and his heart was pounding.

_Twenty-five feet_

The door loomed closer and closer, and the fireball that he'd dodged struck a rafter directly over the door. The aged wood warped and cracked.

_Shit._

Pike uttered a quick prayer that the door wasn't locked

He tucked down one shoulder and twisted his body. Debris fell from above.

_Thirty feet_

His shoulder rammed into the door.

It wasn't locked.

The door slammed back on its hinges and he fell to the floor. Behind him flaming rubble collapsed against the door, blocking him off from the rest of the taskforce. Pike slowly staggered to his feet. He was in a narrow corridor, branching off into three directions, either side and straight ahead.

He patted around for his Thompson. All he found was the broken strap that had secured it to his back. He glanced back at the flaming rubble but he couldn't find a trace of the gun.

_Shit._

Now all he had was the revolver. He slid the sidearm out of its holster and snapped open the chamber. Six gleaming brass cartridges winked back at him. _Six shots…just hope I don't run into any more Splicers_

_Thud. _

Pike froze. Something _big_ was coming. He cursed and pressed his back to the wall. Six shots and then it was down to bare knuckles and pistol whipping. Against what sounded like a tank. The percussion of stomping feet grew louder; he aimed the pistol down and the corridor and then-

"C'mon Mr. B!"

A Big Daddy appeared at the far end of the corridor, stomping along in its reinforced diving suit. It was a Bouncer, the basic version of Big Daddies armed with a powerful mining drill used to burrow into the sea floor. Repurposed as a melee weapon, it had a gruesome effect on soft flesh. Its young charge impatiently led the way, tugging at massive gloves with her tiny hands. The little girl couldn't have been older than ten. She had grayed skin and unsettling yellow eyes. Her dress was tattered and her dark hair was tied in a messy pony tail. Her feet were grimy from where she'd been walking barefoot and she carried a small needle in one hand.

Pike sighed and slowly lowered the gun. Big Daddies were harmless so long as no one threatened their Little Sister. Then they became Hell on legs. The problem was, their definition of threatening behavior wasn't very specific. So Pike quietly took the corridor in front of him and left the behemoth and his gatherer to their grisly business. He looked up and caught a glimpse of a supple leather shoe disappearing behind the corner.

_Fontaine._

Pike ran down the corridor as quietly as his boots would allow. He eased through the door and whipped the gun up. He was in a large maze-like room with rows and rows of shelves stretching into the distance. A couple of flickering bulbs spread dark shadows and muted light across the room. Broken machinery hung from the rafters and gathered dust in the corners. The smell of fuel bit into his nose and he looked down. Glimmering slicks of oil criss-crossed the room, a web of murky liquid.

And then Rapture's Public Enemy Number One stepped into view at the other end of the room. Pike cursed and aimed the gun, marksman style.

"Fontaine!"

Frank Fontaine paused and nonchalantly glanced at him, "Evening Officer." The cigar tip sticking out of his mouth flared crimson, "Nice night for a shoot-out, ain't it?"

Pike slowly walked towards him, keeping the gun leveled on his smug expression all the time. "Fontaine you've been found guilty of smuggling. I'm ordering you by law to stand down."

Fontaine chuckled, amused at his naivety "This is Rapture, kiddo…there _is _no law." He took the cigar out of his mouth and breathed a column of smoke, smug as a hustler with several aces up his sleeve.

"Yeah well the shiny badge pinned on my coat says otherwise." Pike shot back, "Turn around and put your hands on your head or I swear to God I'll blow that smug smile off your gob."

And then-

"Look Mr. Bubbles, angels!"

Pike's head twisted for a fraction of a second. The Little Sister and her Big Daddy stood at the entrance of the room. The Big Daddy rumbled…and Fontaine dropped his Cuban cigar into the fuel.

There was a _whoosh _and a wall of rippling flame raced across the oil. Black smoke rose from the flames, obscuring his vision and cracking his throat.

"Fontaine!"

A mocking laugh answered him. Fontaine was gone, and if he didn't get out soon, he was toast. Pike turned back and made his way quickly through the narrow dry path. He reached the door and slammed his weight against it. The steel portal was impervious to his blows however.

_Goddamnit!_

Behind him, he heard a deep rumbling roar.

Through the flames, the Big Daddy burst through like some metal ship breaching a wave. The Little Sister clung to his shoulders, the lone mariner in a sea of fire. The Big Daddy's porthole glowed an angry red as he approached the door. He leveled the massive drill on his arm and the steel head slowly began to turn. The metal man lowered his head and charged towards the door.

Pike scrambled out of the way just as the Big Daddy impacted. Steel slammed into steel and sparks flew as the drill gouged at the heavy-gauge door. The Big Daddy growled in frustration and struck the door again and again. Slowly the metal door began to groan in protest as the ADAM and metal enhanced man vented his rage on it. Then the fire reached a pile of bright red canisters.

Pike's eyes widened.

"Look out!"

The Big Daddy whipped its head around. In the split-second before the fire reached the pressurized canisters, the Big Daddy realized the danger. The Little Sister yelped as her protector plucked her off his shoulders and hunkered down over her form.

_Ignition. _

An angry roar deafened Pike's ears and an invisible fist swatted him to the ground. He tasted copper in his mouth and blood dribbled from his lips. Metal whipped across the room at lethal speeds and somewhere a behemoth roared in pain. The man slowly stumbled to his feet and looked around with dazed eyes. The explosion had ripped across the room. The Big Daddy lay slumped against the door, a metal shard the size of his arm had skewered him right through the spine-

-but the door was open. The Big Daddy and the explosion had ripped the metal door right off its hinges and now the smoke rushed out into the fresher air. Blearily, Pike staggered through the smoke towards salvation and then-

-a little voice cried out in distress.

Pike went cold.

The fiery blast had dislodged the Big Daddy's precious cargo and sent her spinning away from safety. Now she lay crumpled against the burning floor as fire raged all around her. Yellow eyes wide with fear she called out for her Mr. B.

For a single agonizing second, Pike was stuck between the salvation a few feet away, the bright light and fresh air beckoning to him, saying _come, you will be safe here. _

He took a step forward…and the little girl cried out again.

_Damnit._

He pulled his shirt up over his nose and then he turned from safety and plunged back into the inferno. A support beam cracked and he had to stumble to the side as its flamng structure crushed the ground. Sparks from it flew up to land burning on his face. The leather coat and hat protected him from most of it and then he was staggering into a small clearing in the flames and the little girl-_ Little Sister_- was curled in a ball hacking her lungs out as the acrid smoke stole away the oxygen. Angry burns from hungry flames scoured her flesh. She yelped when he scooped her up in one arm, but Pike didn't have any time for finesse.

"Hang on!" He yelled and then he was rushing through the smoke, lungs gasping for oxygen in the smoky air. He vaulted over burning debris and the little girl clung to his shirt as he rushed through the flames. The exit was in sight, just a few more feet and-

_Crack._

With a creak of protest, fire-damaged wood broke from the ceiling. A piece of burning rubble slammed into his leg, buckling it. White hot pain raced up his leg and with a muffled scream of pain, Pike collapsed to the floor. He could hear the Little Sister- no the little girl's fearful whimpers as the room collapsed around them. As masonry rained around them, he looked at her with smoke-streaked eyes.

_Sorry._

Something slammed into his skull and his world vanished in an explosion of pain.

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_A/N: I'm not quite sure I'm satisfied with this piece, but I needed to get this out of the way before moving on with the story. As always reviews are the ADAM to my Splicer muse, so feel free to give me a dose. _


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